Boing Boing » zombies

London's getting a blood-filled swimming pool strewn with floating body parts

Cory Doctorow — Fri, 17 May 2013 13:00:23 +0000

Miss Cakehead writes, "This set of Zombie Swimming Pool Rules was comissioned from graphic designer Pictographik to promote the Resident Evil Revelations blood swimming pool, and was based on an the iconic traditional British swimming pool rules. The pop up 'blood' filled swimming pool opens in London next week to mark the release of Resident Evil Revelations. In addition to its bloody appearance the swimming pool will offer floats in the form of human torsos, feature brains and intestines as lane markers, have Zombie lifeguards on duty and even offer a diving board in the form of a 'freshly killed human corpse'."

Zombie Pool Rules (Thanks, Miss Cakehead!)

Plague Nation excerpt

Mark Frauenfelder — Fri, 12 Apr 2013 20:56:13 +0000

Here's an excerpt from Dana Fredsti's Plague Nation, sequel to the zombie novel Plague Town.

Ashley Parker was a ordinary woman who was also a “wild card,” immune to the emerging zombie plague, drawn unwillingly into a shadowy paramilitary organization. Having stopped the wave of the undead that swarmed their facility, the worst is yet to come, as the plague begins to manifest in key locations worldwide.

Plague Nation, Dana Fredsti

Excerpt

Morning seemed to come extra early the next day. I had to wonder if Colonel Paxton had set the alarms back.

Even after two cups of coffee, liberally laced with cream and honey, I was tired, heavy-lidded, and irritable when we pulled up to one of the last places in Redwood Grove where we had to search for zombies—and possible survivors. Back when the swarm had hit, you couldn’t swing a bat without hitting one of the undead. Now we had to go digging. But letting any of them slip through, well, it simply wasn’t an option.

The Redwood Trailer Heaven trailer park, located past a cul-de-sac at the end of Palm Street, should have been an idyllic location, all nestled in the redwoods. But zombie apocalypse notwithstanding, if there was a contest for the most cliché white trash neighborhood in America, I’d nominate Trailer Heaven in a heartbeat.

Rows of doublewides sagged on concrete block foundations, shabby and derelict. At least twenty or thirty trailers stretched back into the woods, on either side of a roughly paved road running vertically through the middle, and another bisecting it horizontally. Smaller dirt roads ran parallel in between the rows. Cars—mostly older models—hugged the sides of the trailers, a few under canvas lean-tos, some also on concrete blocks. The ground was littered with trash, including a truly frightening number of Pabst Blue Ribbon cans.

There was a stiff breeze, and the sound it made in the trees was loud enough to be annoying. Every now and then it would die down, then pick up again, rattling the empty beer cans.

“Let’s start at the far end,” I said after a moment’s thought. “When Team B shows up, they can start at the entrance, and we’ll meet in the middle. Kai, let ’em know, okay?” He pulled out his radio and proceeded to do so.

It would have been safer to work in teams, one person opening the door and staying safely behind it, while the other stood back dispatched the zombie with a bullet to the head, but we had a lot of ground to cover, and I trusted Tony and Kai’s ability to handle whatever they came across. Unless they ran into some more Silly String.

“Let’s go.” I nodded to Tony. “Kai, we’ll see you back there.”

Kai nodded as Tony and I unslung our M4s and threaded our way between trailers to the far end of the park.

I took the one at the furthest point, nestled against redwoods on two sides. Some care had been taken with landscaping around it, planters with herbs and flowers bordering the edge of the trailer. The plants still thrived, even in the face of forced neglect, the damp weather making it easy to be a lazy gardener in Redwood Grove.

Ascending the steps to the front door, I listened carefully, trying to discern sound above the banshee howl of the wind. It was difficult, even with my enhanced senses, which picked up everything equally. So I cautiously opened the door, the creak of fog-rusted hinges loud enough to wake the dead. I took a step back and waited.

Nothing.

Stepping inside, I took a big old sniff. I smelled rotting food mixed with a musty smell of an enclosed space that hadn’t been aired out in over two weeks. Nothing pleasant, but after the crap I’d smelled around the undead, stenches were relative.

A quick scan of the interior from front to back revealed nothing more than the fact that its inhabitants had enjoyed the fine taste of cheap beer in large quantities, Domino’s pizza, and preferred Big Bob’s banana-flavored condoms as their birth control of choice. The box was sitting out on the bedside table. I hoped they survived to have many more banana splits.

Okay, just grossed myself out.

I used my extra-broad black Sharpie on the door, and moved on.

The next trailer was an eBay seller’s wet dream, with scads of Hummel figurines and Smithsonian collector’s plates displayed on doilies, all against a background of flocked pink wallpaper. It was like being trapped inside a tchotchke-stuffed Pepto Bismol bottle. But at least there were no signs of body parts.

I made another black check with satisfaction, and started to relax as I moved to trailer number three. Maybe Trailer Heaven’s residents had made it to a safe house, like the church or the fire station. Maybe the person who’d collected all those precious figurines, and the complete Star Trek: The Next Generation collector’s plate series, was secure at Big Red with the rest of the survivors. I hoped this was the case, even if I thought Hummel figurines were as tacky as velvet paintings of Elvis.

Smiling at the thought, I opened the door to the third trailer without bothering to listen or knock.

My bad.

Rotting hands seized my arm and the front of my vest, yanking me inside before I could do more than yelp with surprise. My eyes watered as a wave of putrid stench rolled over me, and I found myself up close and personal with two zombies—a tall, skinny male wearing nothing but a pair of BVDs that had probably been gross before their occupant had died, and a female with a bouffant of lacquered red hair, skinny jeans on a frame that couldn’t be called skinny even with chunks of flesh missing, and a shredded skin-tight tank top that exposed a major muffin top stomach and one sagging breast. One arm was gone, leaving a mess of blood, gristle, and chewed flesh in its place. There was a hole where the other breast had been.

Both zombies gripped my arms and torso, pulling me toward them with relentless hunger and threatening to dislocate my shoulders as they played a mindless tug-of-war. The woman’s mouth gaped open, a foul smell of wafting out of it as she leaned in toward my neck.

No you don’t, bitch.

Yanking my arm free from her grip, I shoved my forearm under her chin as she tried to take a chunk out of me, in the process losing my grip on the M4, which clattered to the floor. Mr. Underwear hooked his fingers into the front of my vest and yanked me toward him, knocking my arm loose and giving the female zombie ample surface to bite. Luckily its teeth couldn’t penetrate the armored pads on my forearm. Even if I was immune to infection, I didn’t particularly want to have another chunk of my flesh ripped out.

I slammed my right forearm into the female zombie’s head, sending it flailing backward into the kitchen. Its feet skidded on a floor coated with an indefinable mix of blood, rotted food, and goo that I didn’t want to think about. Then it slammed head first into one of the kitchen cupboards.

But the impact wasn’t hard enough to take Ms. Zombie of Wal-Mart out of commission. It slowly and relentlessly managed to find its way back to its feet as I kicked the male zombie in the kneecap, feeling the patella shatter beneath the impact. It didn’t register pain, but the right leg buckled as it still grappled with me, trying to use my vest as leverage to pull me to its gaping, reeking mouth.

There wasn’t enough Listerine in the world to cure this zombie’s halitosis.

I kicked its other kneecap, stomping as hard as I could with the heel of my boot. That leg crumpled, as well, but it still clung to my vest with both rotting hands, and the sudden weight sent me toppling forward on top of the suddenly prone zombie. My hands plunged into the thing’s torso with a truly gross popping sound, as if I’d punctured the world’s nastiest balloon. The thing just moaned and gnashed its teeth as it tried to pull my face close enough to bite.

I’d had enough of this shit.

Giving a scream of disgust and fury, I pulled my hands out of its viscera, entwined my fingers together and went “Hulk, smash!” on its ass. I slammed both fists into its head with all my not inconsiderable strength. The skull, already weakened by decay, shattered beneath the blow. I followed up with another double fisted strike, then burrowed one hand into the brain, fingers stiff, until I’d scrambled the sucker in its shell.

The thing stopped moving and its hands finally gave up their death grip on my vest, flopping to the ground with a meaty thump.

Meanwhile, Ms. Zombie had regained some traction and pulled herself back toward me across the gore-streaked floor as I struggled to a sitting position, scooting back until I was propped up against a wall. I stared at the thing, hating and pitying it at the same time.

There was something almost hypnotic in its dead eyes and slow, relentless crawl. It wouldn’t stop. I knew that. I could get up, leave the trailer, and it would try its best to come after me. And that was what freaked me out the most, realizing that “you can run, but you can’t hide” could be the world’s new rule if we didn’t stop this plague in its tracks.

“Right then.”

I stood up, grabbed a cast iron pan from the counter, pausing to get a solid grip through all of the goo, and slammed it down on Lady Wal-Mart’s head. It only took one blow to drop the zombie in its tracks, but I gave it a second whack for good measure. And then a third because I wanted to punish someone… something… for fucking up my world so completely. The zombie was the closest thing at hand.

And they wouldn’t let me beat the shit out of Dr. Albert.

I tossed the pan to the floor, the sound clattering almost unbearably loudly in the small confines of the trailer. Brains and other viscous innards smeared my hands. I staggered over to the sink, hoping to wash up a bit, but stopped short at the sight of scum crusted water. Bits of ancient food rose up to the surface to tell the tale of a nasty-ass clog that lay beneath. The thought of dipping my fingers in there, or getting hit by backsplash if I turned on the faucet, didn’t sit well with my already unhappy stomach.

So I wiped my hands best as I could on a relatively clean dishtowel, dropping it over the female zombie’s face as I limped to the back of the trailer. My heart dropped when I saw a bag of Pampers on the hallway floor. Immediately regretting all the dead baby jokes I’d ever told, I reluctantly opened the bedroom door.

A small crib stood under one of the windows, shut tightly against the chill air of a northern California autumn. Standing inside it on unsteady legs, clutching the bars of the crib with pudgy grayish-blue fingers, was a baby in a blood-splotched blue onesie. It couldn’t have been more than a year old when it died. It still had thick curls of white blond hair framing its face. Adorable fat baby cheeks had been lost to the beginnings of decay. I recognized the signs of Walker’s Flu—black fluids, now dried, trickling from the mouth, eyes, and nose, and noticed that the only blood on the baby’s skin was around its mouth. I winced as I realized what had happened to its mom’s missing breast.

The baby made a low rattling noise in its throat, a sick parody of a normal infant’s gurgle.

At least he hadn’t known the horror of being torn to pieces by his parents, no matter how sick he’d been. Poor little guy.

I found a clean spot on my sleeve, and wiped some moisture away from under my eyes. I’d seen a lot of horrible things since this whole mess began, but somehow the sight of this baby, long past his feeding time, hit hard.

“I don’t even like kids,” I told it, angrily dashing more tears away. It mewled at me, little mouth opening and closing as if suckling on a phantom bottle. I hardened my heart, drew my tanto, and did my job.

But it really sucked.

Plague Nation

Night Of The Living Dead (1968): 3 different prints at Archive.org

Mark Frauenfelder — Thu, 14 Feb 2013 17:42:06 +0000

Archive.org has three different prints of George Romero's fantastic zombie movie, Night of the Living Dead.

1. Raw untouched video master - how the film has been seen on late night TV and PD video's and DVDs for years.

2. A remastered version of the film presented in HD.

3. Rare international widescreen theatrical release print presented 16:9 enhanced.

Night Of The Living Dead (1968)

XNO's grotesque Jetsons

Cory Doctorow — Thu, 31 Jan 2013 15:25:21 +0000

This grotesque-Jetsons illustration comes from the 1994 title Art? Alternatives Magazine. It's by XNO/Chet Darmstaedter, and there's also a dandy Flintstones/zombie illustration I've had a look at.

(Thanks, Fipi Lele!)

Zombie teddy bear: Undead Ted

Cory Doctorow — Wed, 23 Jan 2013 22:01:23 +0000

Eclectech sez, "UK artist Phillip Blackman is creating fantasic and gruesome zombie bears (undead teds), including this excellent valentines bear offering you his heart."

Valentine UnDeadTed offering you his heart (Thanks, Eclectech!)

Trailer for World War Z zombie thriller

Mark Frauenfelder — Tue, 22 Jan 2013 04:01:31 +0000

I can't believe I hadn't seen this trailer until today. It's based on Max Brooks' novel, World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War. I was so excited that it took me a while to pay attention to the movie I paid to see. It comes out this summer.

Zombie attack sheet-set

Cory Doctorow — Tue, 08 Jan 2013 02:03:22 +0000

Melissa Christie's screen-printed zombie sheet set is sadly no longer in the stream of commerce, but it's a very nice -- and well-executed -- idea.

I never sleep alone (via Crazy Abalone)

Zombie Flamingos!

Cory Doctorow — Tue, 27 Nov 2012 22:52:25 +0000

Zombie Flamingos are just the perfect accessory for the home that has everything!

Zombie Flamingo (via Geekologie)

Mad Max meets zombies in indie Aussie movie "Wyrmwood"

Cory Doctorow — Mon, 26 Nov 2012 23:15:59 +0000

Here's a seven-minute teaser for "Wyrmwood," an indie zombie movie from Australia that merges zombies with Mad Max. It's really a very, very good little short on its own, and convinced me to kick in $20 towards the production fundraiser on Indiegogo. I want to see this movie get made!

About two years ago my brother and I came up with the idea to meld Mad Max with Dawn of the Dead and make the best zombie film ever produced in Australia. Cut to now and we’re about a third of the way through the film and still going strong.
We’ve assembled a cracking cast & crew of disgustingly talented actors, filmmakers & make-up artists who are all working their guts out in order to deliver a piece of ‘Oz-ploitation’ cult cinema that will sit easily next to the likes of Evil Dead, Bad Taste & 28 Days Later …

WYRMWOOD: An Aussie Zombie Film (Thanks, Sam!)

Zombie documentary from "The People v George Lucas" crew needs your support

Cory Doctorow — Sun, 18 Nov 2012 00:34:18 +0000

MC Frontalot sez, "From the folks who made The People Vs. George Lucas (in which I am lucky enough to be a talking head), a new documentary about zombies and their place in our culture. Simon Pegg and Alex Cox are in the teaser trailer. Looks like the filmmakers need $30,000 in the next six days if they're going to fan-fund this thing. Since tPvGL did so well, I'm guessing that more traditional avenues are open to them if this fails. But I think it's way cooler for the audience to make this thing their own."

Brought to the screen by the creators of the groundbreaking participatory doc THE PEOPLE vs. GEORGE LUCAS, and co-hosted by Geekscape’s own Jonathan London and Red Letter Media’s infamous Mr. Plinkett, DOC OF THE DEAD will delve deep into the myriad crevasses of zombie culture to deliver the first-ever in-depth look at a contemporary social pandemic of global proportions. Shot and edited in a cinematically edgy, high-octane style, DOC OF THE DEAD will host a rich and entertaining dialogue with zombie experts and celebrities, seek participation from YouTubers and indie filmmakers, and examine viral cultural trends to explore the possibility and ramifications of an actual zombie outbreak with sociologists, virologists, chemists, and members of the Zombie Research Society.

DOC OF THE DEAD (Thanks, Frontalot!)

Exclusive excerpt from The Walking Dead novel - The Road to Woodbury

Mark Frauenfelder — Wed, 14 Nov 2012 23:14:16 +0000

Here's an exclusive excerpt from The Walking Dead: The Road to Woodbury, which is the sequel to The Walking Dead: Rise of The Governor by Robert Kirkman and Jay Bonansinga.

The zombie plague unleashes its horrors on the suburbs of Atlanta without warning, pitting the living against the dead. Caught in the mass exodus, Lilly Caul struggles to survive in a series of ragtag encampments and improvised shelters. But the Walkers are multiplying. Dogged by their feral hunger for flesh and crippled by fear, Lilly relies on the protection of good Samaritans by seeking refuge in a walled-in town once known as Woodbury, Georgia.

At first, Woodbury seems like a perfect sanctuary. Squatters barter services for food, people have roofs over their heads, and the barricade expands, growing stronger every day. Best of all, a mysterious self-proclaimed leader named Philip Blake keeps the citizens in line. But Lilly begins to suspect that all is not as it seems... Blake, who has recently begun to call himself The Governor, has disturbing ideas about law and order.

Ultimately, Lilly and a band of rebels open up a Pandora’s box of mayhem and destruction when they challenge The Governor’s reign . . . and the road to Woodbury becomes the highway to hell in this riveting follow-up to Robert Kirkman and Jay Bonansinga's New York Times bestselling The Walking Dead: Rise of the Governor.

On the north side of Woodbury’s racetrack complex, beneath the arched exit, a wiry, tightly coiled individual emerges from an unmarked metal door and gazes up at the sky. The rain has ceased for the moment, leaving behind a low ceiling of sooty clouds. The wiry gentleman carries a small bundle wrapped in a threadbare woolen blanket the color of dead grass, gathered at the top with rawhide.

The wiry man crosses the street and starts down the sidewalk, his raven black hair slick with moisture and pulled back in a ponytail today.

As he walks, his preternaturally alert gaze is everywhere, practically all at once, taking in everything that goes on around him. In recent weeks the emotions that have plagued him have subsided, the voice in his head silent now. He feels strong. This town is his raison d’etre, the fuel that keeps him keen and sharp.

He is about to turn the corner at the intersection of Canyon and Main when he notices a figure in his peripheral vision. The older guy – the drunk who came in a few days ago with the nigger and the girls – is emerging from the warehouse at the south end of the racetrack. The weathered old dude pauses for a moment to take a gulp from his flask, and the look on his face after swallowing and cringing at the burn is apparent to the wiry man even a block away.

In the distance, the older dude grimaces as the alcohol streams down his gullet, and the grimace is weirdly familiar to the wiry man. The grimace – full of shame and desolation -- makes the wiry man feel strange and sentimental, almost tender. The older man puts the flask away and starts trundling toward Main Street with that trademark gate – half limp, half drunken amble – which many homeless people get after years of struggling on the street. The wiry man follows.

Minutes later, the wiry man cannot resist calling out to the juicer. “Hey Sport!”

Bob Stookey hears the voice -- gravelly, lightly accented with a trace of Southern small-town, echoing on the breeze – but he cannot locate the source.

Bob pauses at the edge of Main Street and looks around. The town is mostly deserted today, the rains driving denizens indoors.

“’Bob’ is it?” the voice says, closer now, and Bob finally sees a figure approaching from behind.

“Oh, hi… how ya doin’?”

The man saunters up to Bob with a forced smile. “I’m doing great, Bob, thanks.” Wisps of coal black hair dangling in front of the man’s chiseled face, he carries a bundle that seems to be leaking moisture, dripping on the pavement. People around town have started to call this man The Governor – the name has stuck – which is fine and dandy with this guy. “How you settling into our little hamlet?”

“Real good.”

“You meet Doc Stevens?”

“Yes sir. Good man.”

“Call me The Governor.” The smile softens a bit. “Everybody else seems to be calling me that. What the hell? Kinda like the ring of it.”

“The Governor it is,” Bob says and glances down at the bundle in the man’s grip. The blanket leaks blood. Bob glances away quickly, alarmed by it, but feigning ignorance. “Looks like the rains have blown over.”

The man’s smile remains stamped on his face. “Walk with me, Bob.”

“Sure.”

They start down the cracked sidewalk, moving toward the temporary wall that stands between merchant’s row and the outer streets. The sound of nail guns snapping can be heard above the wind. The wall continues expanding along the southern edge of the business district. “You remind me of somebody,” the Governor says after a long pause.

“It ain’t Kate Winslet I’m betting.” Bob has had enough alcohol to loosen his tongue. He chuckles to himself as he trundles along. “Or Bonnie Raitt, neither.”

“Touche’, Bob.” The Governor glances down at his package, notices the droplets of blood leaving little coin-sized marks on the sidewalk. “What a mess I’m making.”

Bob looks away, scrambles to change the subject. “Ain’t y’all worried about all that pounding racket over there drawing walkers?”

“We got it under control, Bob, don’t you worry about that. Got men posted out on the edge of the woods, and we try and keep the pounding down to a minimum.”

“That’s good to hear… got things figured out pretty good around here.”

“We try, Bob.”

“I told Doc Stevens, he’s welcome to any medical supplies I got in my stash.”

“You a doctor, too?”

Bob tells the man about Afghanistan, patching marines, getting an honorable discharge.

“You got kids, Bob?”

“No sir… for the longest time it was just me and Brenda, my old lady. Had a little trailer outside of Smyrna, not a bad life.”

“You’re looking at my little bundle, aren’t ya Bob?”

“No, sir… whatever it is, it’s none of my beeswax. Doesn’t concern me.”

“Where’s your wife?”

Bob slows down a bit, as though the mere subject of Brenda Stookey weighs him down. “Lost her to a walker attack shortly after the Turn.”

“Sorry to hear that.” They approach a gated section of the wall. The Governor pauses, knocks a few times, and the seam opens. Litter swirls as a workman pulls the gate back and nods at the Governor, letting the twosome pass. “My place is just up the road a piece,” the Governor says with a tilt of his head toward the east side of town. “Little two-story apartment building… come on over, I’ll fix you a drink.”

“The governor’s mansion?” Bob jokes. He can’t help it. The nerves and the booze are working on him. “Ain’t you got laws to pass?”

The Governor pauses, turns and smiles at Bob. “I just figured out who you remind me of.”

In that brief instant, standing in that gray overcast daylight, the wiry man -- who from this point on shall think of himself as “the Governor” – experiences a seismic shift within his brain. He stands there staring at a coarse, deeply-lined, alcoholic good-old-boy from Smyrna who is the spitting image of Ed Blake, the Governor’s old man. Ed Blake had that same pug-nose, prominent brow, and crows feet around red-rimmed eyes. Ed Blake was a big drinker too, like this guy, with the same sense of humor. Ed Blake would toss off sarcastic one-liners with the same drunken relish, cutting to the quick with his words when he wasn’t slapping his family around with the back of his big, calloused hands.

All at once, another part of the Governor bubbles up to the surface – a deeply buried part of him -- on a wave of sentimental longing, which almost makes him dizzy as he remembers big Ed Blake in happier times, a simple hillbilly laborer who tried to fight his demons long enough to be a loving father. “You remind me of somebody I used to know a long time ago,” the Governor says finally, his tone softening as he looks Bob Stookey in the eyes. “C’mon, let’s go get a drink.”

For the rest of their journey across the safe zone, the two men talk quietly, openly, like old friends.

At one point the Governor asks Bob what happened to his wife.

“Place we lived, this mobile home park…” Bob says slowly, heavily, as he hobbles along, remembering dark days. “…We got overrun one day with walkers. I was out trying scrounge up some supplies when it happened… by the time I got back they had gotten into our place.”

He pauses and the Governor says nothing, just walks in silence, waiting.

“They were tearing into her, and I fought ‘em off best I could… and… I guess they only ate enough of her that she came back.”

Another agonizing pause. Bob licks his dry lips. The Governor can see that the man needs a drink badly, needs his medicine to stanch the memories.

“I couldn’t bring myself to finish her off.” This comes out of Bob on a choked wheeze. His rheumy eyes well up. “I ain’t proud of the fact that I left her. Pretty sure she got some folks after that. Her arm and her lower body was pretty mangled but she could still get around. Them people she got, their deaths are my fault.”

A pause.

“It’s hard to let go sometimes,” the Governor ventures at last, glancing down at his ghastly little bundle. The dripping has diminished somewhat, the blood thickening to the consistency of blackstrap molasses. Right then the Governor notices Bob pondering the blood droplets, his brow furrowed in thought. He looks almost sober.

Bob gestures at the gruesome bundle. “You got somebody turned on ya, don’t ya?”

“You’re not so dumb… are ya, Bob?”

Bob wipes his mouth pensively. “Never thought about feeding Brenda.”

“C’mon, Bob, I want to show you something.”

They reach the two-story brick edifice at the end of the block, and Bob follows the Governor inside.

“Stand behind me for a second, Bob.” The Governor fiddles a key into a deadbolt, the door at the end of a second floor hallway. The door clicks, and the sound of a low growl seeps out. “I would appreciate it, Bob, if you kept what you’re about to see to yourself.”

“No problem… lips are sealed.”

Bob follows the Governor into a two-bedroom unit with Spartan furnishings that reeks of spoiled meat and disinfectant, the windows painted over with black Rustoleum. A floor length mirror near the front vestibule is covered with newspaper and masking tape. The mirror in the bathroom – visible through an open doorway – is missing, its absence evident in the pale oval outline above the sink. All the mirrors in this place have been removed.

“She’s everything to me,” the Governor says. Bob follows the man across the living room, down a short hallway, and through a doorway into a cramped laundry room, where the upright corpse of a little girl is chained to a U-bolt drilled into the wall.

“Oh Lord.” Bob keeps his distance. The dead girl -- still in pigtails and pinafore dress, as if dressed for church -- snarls and spits and flails, her chain straining at its mooring. Bob takes a step back. “Oh Lord.”

“Calm down, Bob.”

The Governor kneels in front of the pint-sized zombie and lays the bundle on the floor. The girl bites at the air, blackened teeth clacking. The Governor unwraps a human head, its cranial cavity gaping on one side from a close-range gunshot.

“Oh my.” Bob notices that the human head -- its pulpy concavity on one side already hectic with maggots -- sports a bristly, jarhead haircut, as if it once belonged to a soldier or marine.

“This here’s Penny… she’s an only child,” the Governor explains as he shoves the dripping severed head within range of the chained cadaver. “We came from a small town called Waynesboro. Penny’s mother – my sweet wife Sarah -- was killed in a car crash before the Turn.”

The child feeds.

Bob watches from the doorway, at once appalled and riveted, as the diminutive zombie slurps and chews the soft matter of the cranial passage as though ferreting out the meat of a lobster.

The Governor watches the feeding. The slurping noises fill the air. “My brother Brian and I – along with a few friends of mine – we set out to find greener pastures with Penny here. Made our way west, crashed in Atlanta for a spell, hooked up with some people, lost some people. Kept moving west.”

The little corpse settles down, leaning against the wall with tiny, greasy, scarlet-stained fingers burrowing deep into the hollowed-out skull for morsels.

The Governor’s voice drops an octave. “Had a run-in with some dirt bags at an orchard not far from here.” His words falter for a moment. No tears but his voice crumbles a little. “Put my brother in charge of Penny while I fended ‘em off… and one thing led to another.”

Bob cannot move. He cannot speak in this airless chamber of stained tiles, exposed plumbing, and mildew-darkened grout. He watches the tiny abomination, her ghastly face content now, stringers of brain matter hanging from her little tulip lips, her fish-belly eyes rolling back in her head as she leans back.

“My brother fucked up big time, got my baby killed,” the Governor explains now, his head down, his chin on his chest. His voice gets thick with emotion. “Brian was weak and that’s all there is to it. I could not let it go, though.” He looks at Bob through raw, wet eyes. “I know you can relate, Bob. I could not let go of my baby girl.”

Bob can relate. His chest seizes up with sorrow for Brenda.

“I blame myself for Penny getting killed and comin’ back.” The Governor stares at the floor. “I kept her going with scraps and we kept headin’ west. By the time we got to Woodbury my brother Brian was ape-shit crazy with guilt.”

The thing that was once a little girl drops the skull as though discarding an oyster shell. She gazes around the room through her milky eyes as if awakening from a dream.

“I had to put Brian down like a sick dog,” the Governor utters, almost to himself. He takes a step closer to the little thing that used to be a child. His voice becomes almost toneless. “I still see my Penny in there sometimes… when she’s calm like this.”

Bob swallows hard. Contrary emotions swirl and eddy inside him – repulsion, sadness, fear, bone-deep longing, even sympathy for this deranged individual – and he hangs his head. “You been through a lot.”

“Look at that, Bob.” The Governor nods toward the little zombie. The child-thing cocks its head, staring at the Governor with a vexed expression. The thing blinks its eyes. A faint trace of Penny Blake glimmers behind its eyes. “My baby’s still in there. Aren’t ya, Honey?”

The Governor goes over to the chained creature, kneels and strokes its livid cheek.

Bob stiffens, starts to say, “Be careful, you don’t want to be –“

“Here’s my beautiful baby girl.” The Governor strokes the thing’s matted hair. The tiny zombie blinks. The pallid face changes, eyes narrowing, blackened lips peeling away from rotten baby teeth.

Bob steps forward. “Look out --!”

The Penny-thing snaps its jaws at the exposed flesh of the Governor’s wrist, but the Governor pulls away just in time. “Woopsy!”

The little zombie strains at its chain, scuttling to its feet and reaching at the air… as the Governor backs away. He speaks in baby talk. “Wascally Wabbit… almost got daddy that time!”

Bob gets woozy. He can feel his gorge rising, the bile threatening to come up.

“Bob, do me a favor and reach into that loose bundle the head came out of.”

“Huh?”

“Do me a favor and grab that last little goodie in that bag over there.”

Bob holds his vomit in and turns and finds the bundle on the floor and looks inside. A pale human finger, apparently male, lies at the bottom of the bag in a clot of drying blood. Hair sprouts from the knuckles, and from the ragged end protrudes a small nodule of white bone.

Something loosens inside Bob – as sudden as a rubber band snapping -- as he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, bends down, and retrieves the finger.

“Why don’t you do the honors, my friend,” the Governor suggests, standing proudly over the snapping zombie-child, his hands on his hips.

Bob feels as though his body has begun to move on its own, with a mind of its own. “Yeah… sure.”

“Go ahead.”

Bob stands within inches of the chain’s limit, as the Penny-Thing snarls and sputters noisily at him, clanging against the U-bolt. “Yeah… why not?”

Holding the finger out at arm’s length, Bob feeds it to the creature.

The little corpse gobbles the thing, falling to its knees, two-handing the finger into her ravenous little pit of a mouth. The nauseating wet noises fill the laundry room.

The two men stand side-by-side, watching now. The Governor puts his arm around his new friend.

The Walking Dead: The Road to Woodbury

Walking Dead "Green Army Men" zombies

Cory Doctorow — Fri, 09 Nov 2012 22:37:08 +0000

Gentle Giant's accepting pre-orders for Walking Dead "Green Army Men," available in green or tan, in sets of 10 for $14.

It’s a trip down memory lane… but with zombies! No longer constrained to the traditional green vs. tan, now kids and kids-at-heart alike can have their armies take on The Walking Dead! Use your green troops strategically to defend the last outposts of humanity, or take control of a horde of Walkers and decimate everything in your path in your never-ending lust to devour the living! With 10 figures per bag, featuring an assortment of different dynamic sculpts in two nightmarish colors, The Walking Dead Zombie Army Men are ready to rip, tear and chew their way into your toy collection. Purchase as many sets as you like!

The Walking Dead Zombie Army Men

Zombie playing cards

Cory Doctorow — Wed, 31 Oct 2012 13:38:14 +0000

Darren sez, "Rising up in time for Halloween and el Dia de los Muertos, Póstumo is a deck of zombie playing cards by Colombian artist Obsidian Abnormal and American scallywag Darren J. Gendron. The deck features gruesome zombie art, one-eyed jacks, suicidal kings, and fun twists on the normal suits - human hearts, zombie-killing clubs and brains. So many brains."

Love the detail on these -- replacing the suits was a moment of genius. The face cards are AMAZING.

We remixed the suits into spades, clubs, hearts and brains, taking literal representations of each. Spades are now actual shovels, while clubs are shown as bats and other blunt objects. Hearts take on a fleshy connotation. Diamonds are replaced by the most valuable thing to a zombie - BRAINS.
The font is specially designed for Póstumo by Obsidian, creating a distressed and fleshed interpretation of Garamond. The final versions of each card have up to 10 different illustrations of brains, clubs, spades or hearts.

Póstumo - The Deck of the Dead (Thanks, Darren!)

Joss Whedon bets on Romney -- to lead us into the zombie apocalypse

Jamie Frevele — Mon, 29 Oct 2012 15:54:57 +0000

(Video link) Joss Whedon is familiar with catastrophic urban disaster and the supernatural, so it's about time he endorsed a candidate in this year's presidential race! Watch as he puts his money on Mitt Romney as the best man with the best ideas for leading our country directly into a "nightmare zombie wasteland." (via YouTube)

A possible medical diagnosis of zombies, just in case they end up being real

Jamie Frevele — Wed, 24 Oct 2012 15:43:21 +0000

(Video link) If you're a logical, overthinking zombie fan, then this is the TED-Ed video for you! Tim Verstynen and Bradley Voytek of the Zombie Research Society have narrated a short, animated video outlining possible medical explanations for why zombies are zombies. You might think this is silly, because zombies are fictional... until you see some wobbly humanoid lurking in your backyard, eating a squirrel. I just want you to have the information you might desperately need. (via Zombie Research Society)

Horrifying face/throat zombie makeup

Cory Doctorow — Wed, 17 Oct 2012 22:50:50 +0000

Redditor Specialxk's zombie walk face-and-throat trompe l'oeil makeup job is awesomely horrifying, and it's a nice extension of the sort of work we've featured before with the Venom makeup from Captainsarasparrow.

May I present to you my Zombie Walk makeup. (imgur.com) (via Super Punch)

The zombie ferret car sticker you've been seeking is finally available!

Jamie Frevele — Mon, 15 Oct 2012 21:28:20 +0000

Let me guess: You are a member of a family with a pet ferret. You are also a fan of zombies. But whenever you look for a set of "family" stickers for the back window of your motor vehicle that not only turns your familial avatars into zombies, but also includes a pet ferret, you are met with bitter failure. I have wonderful news for you: your search is over! I found one for you at New York Comic Con.

There it is! On the bottom right of this display! Zombie ferret -- and other pets -- are the exclusive offering of ZombieZom, one of the awesome exhibitors on the NYCC show floor! Love them not for being the only place to buy a zombie ferret car sticker, but because they thought to make one at all!

Zombie lawn-gnomes feast on a pink flamingo

Cory Doctorow — Wed, 26 Sep 2012 19:26:06 +0000

Chris and Jane's Place on Etsy will sell you this delightful tableau for your front yard, in which zombie gnomes are depicted feasting on a felled and mutilated pink flamingo. $55 cheap.

This is a sorry sight indeed. A poor helpless Lawn Flamingo has been taken down by zombie gnomes: Nose-less Ned, Greedy Gary, and Bartolomeu.It seems like an unlikely kill until Bartolomeu broke the elegant beasts leg and brought it crashing to the ground. Where they pounced upon their helpless victim and began their feast. So we say "Bye Bye Birdie, I'm going to miss you so, Bye Bye Birdie, Why'd you have to go?"
All of these Gnomes are hand painted and hand casted. We make our gnomes out of a very sturdy mix of hydrostone and cement, and use all purpose outdoor weather sealer to protect your paint. We have been getting so many orders so please give us 7-8 weeks for us to mail them out to you.

Zombie Gnomes: Bye Bye Birdie (Thanks, Fipi Lele!)

Zombie Disney princesses fell under a scarier, less glamorous spell than usual

Jamie Frevele — Wed, 22 Aug 2012 16:41:08 +0000

Ongoing evidence that Disney and the horror genre are not mutually exclusive: zombie Disney princesses. DeviantARTist Clocktowerman has a mashup collection that will surely delight horror fans, Disney fans, and geek parents who are gently attempting to introduce the scary beasties they love into their children's lives. After the jump, see a few selections from the artist's zombie princess collection, including a full-sized version of Snow White. These ladies aren't after princes for their riches -- they're looking for a nice guy with a brain. A delicious, oxygen-rich brain, filled with blood sent from a still-beating heart.

Why they haven't made a zombie princess movie is beyond me.

Full-size Zombie Snow White

Zombie Belle

Zombie Cinderella

Zombie Ariel (zombies under the sea!)

Clocktowerman does tons of horror-inspired artwork (including Ronald McDonald), so his page is definitely worth a look.

Zombie Disney princesses seek Prince Charming -- and brains [Mashable]

UPDATE: It's been pointed out by a commenter that Clocktowerman's work is very similar to that of Rob Sacchetto, who was featured on Boing Boing for his own brand of zombie-themed artwork earlier this week. Visit Sacchetto's Zombie Portraits site so you can contrast, compare, and judge for yourselves.

Custom zombie portraits

Cory Doctorow — Mon, 20 Aug 2012 03:01:03 +0000

Rob Sacchetto,

I'm a zombie artist. I'm an illustrator and I have now likely illustrated more zombies than anyone else on earth. My ZombieDaily.com project, which has been running for over 1200 consecutive days, involves me posting a new piece of original zombie artwork every single day. Add to that my ZombiePortraits.com custom illustrated portrait service and have illustrated, created and published close to 5000 original works of zombie art.
I've written and illustrated two books on zombies, been featured in documentaries and numerous magazines. I have created thousands of custom zombie portraits for people from all walks of life including noted horror icons George Romero, Tom Savini as well as 'The Zombie Survival Guide' and 'World War Z' author Max Brooks.
I have now redesigned and relaunched my Zombie Portraits service and I am again accepting custom portrait requests and zombie artwork commissions. I am trying to get the word out - I like to eat and have nice things.
Persons interested in commissioning a custom zombie portrait for themselves, as a unique gift for a loved one or as a one-of-a-kind wedding present can simply email their reference photo to zombieme@zombieportraits.com for a free estimate.

Zombie Portraits (Thanks, Rob!)

Join ZomBees, help track bee parasites that turn their hosts into colony-threatening living dead

Cory Doctorow — Wed, 08 Aug 2012 05:47:23 +0000

You've doubtless heard about the parasite Apocephalus borealis, which infects bees and turns them into weird zombies. It's pretty awesomely awful stuff. The ZomBees project aims to track the spread of the parasite through citizen scientists like you, who will run the critters to ground and tell the project about them. ZomBees are implicated in the apocalyptic Colony Collapse Disorder, which threatens the world's food security.

We need your help finding out where honey bees are being parasitized by the Zombie Fly and how big a threat the fly is to honey bees. So far, the Zombie Fly has been found parasitizing honey bees in California and South Dakota. We are teaming up with citizen scientists (like you!) to determine if the fly has spread to honey bees across North America.

ZomBee Watch (via O'Reilly Radar)

Zombie T-Rex tattoo

Cory Doctorow — Sat, 07 Jul 2012 15:43:19 +0000

Megan, a cake designer, sports her wonderful zombie/T-Rex tattoo. It was inked by Jeff Addz at Generation X in Daytona Beach, Florida, who worked freehand.

Zombie T-Rex Tattoo Shoulder Tattoo (via Geekologie)

Righthaven: copyright troll zombie!

Cory Doctorow — Wed, 04 Jul 2012 16:56:23 +0000

Remember Righthaven, the copyright troll whose ass was handed to them by the Electronic Frontier Foundation and others, who got a court to declare that fair use exists, you can't license the right to sue over a copyright without licensing the copyright itself, and terrifying random bloggers into turning over their life's savings for quoting a news-article wasn't a fit business model? They're dead and dusted, domain name sold off to pay their legal bills, but they want to rise from the grave in order to appeal key rulings against them.

Daybreak - a zombie graphic novel starring YOU

Mark Frauenfelder — Sun, 24 Jun 2012 21:33:16 +0000

Yesterday I reviewed a realistic and unusual novel called Dead Inside: Do Not Enter: Notes from the Zombie Apocalypse. Twenty-four hours later, I figure it's time to review another zombie book. This one is a graphic novel called Daybreak, by Brian Ralph. He's a "professor of sequential art" at the Savannah College of Art and Design, but don't let his academic title scare you off. His 160-page novel is a creepy look at a day in the life of people who are scratching out a miserable existence in the aftermath of a zombapocolypse.

Ralph cleverly presents the story as if you, the reader, are living in this grim, horrid wasteland. Each panel is angled from the perspective of the reader. The characters talk to you. Here's the first page:

Your companion in this story is a young one-armed man who discovers you staring in a field of rubble and takes you under his remaining wing by inviting you into his hideout. He has good intentions, but since this is a zombie novel, things quickly go to hell. And while the threat of zombies is ever-present, the real trouble comes from another source. I won't spoil the story by telling you what happens.

Ralph's fine storytelling is matched by his textured, deceptively cartoony artwork. After reading Daybreak (it's a fast read), I went back and studied the panels so I could soak in the backgrounds and linework. I missed Ralph's earlier work, the award-winning Cave-In, and now I'm looking forward to reading it.

Daybreak

Dead Inside: a zombie novel told in the form of found notes

Mark Frauenfelder — Sat, 23 Jun 2012 17:51:21 +0000

[Video Link] Last month I found myself in Palo Alto in need of an espresso. Yelp directed me to a place called ZombieRunner, which turned out to be a running shoe store with a zombie-themed espresso bar. The espresso turned out to be excellent, as did the selection of books, all of which were about zombies. One book caught my eye: Dead Inside: Do Not Enter: Notes from the Zombie Apocalypse.

I had planned to leave the store as soon as I'd quaffed my doubleshot, but the book was so engrossing that I parked myself on the couch for nearly an hour, reluctantly leaving only because I had a scheduled appointment. I would have bought the book, but it was not for sale. But I emailed my friend Steve at Chronicle Books and he sent me a review copy, which was waiting for me when I got back to LA. I picked it up and finished it in one sitting.

Dead Inside: Do Not Enter was crowd-written by Lost Zombies, a zombie themed social network and it tells the by-now familiar story of a zombapocalyptic virus that whips across the planet, but presents it in the form of realistic-looking notes written by people trying to survive and help other uninfected people survive. The introduction to Dead Inside explains that all of these hand-written and computer-printed notes had been found in the blood-stained backpack of a little girl who had apparently been collecting them until she herself got sick with the zombie virus.

The notes are presented in chronological order. The first notes express mild concern ("Remember to get your flu shot - @ the clinic they say it's really bad this year and I don't want you to get sick"), followed by annoyance ("Some kid bit our son at school - I took him to the doctor. Dinner is in the microwave" -- I'm paraphrasing because I don't have the book with me right now), a growing sense of panic, and a grim acceptance of the new world disorder (“I hope I get bit first so I don’t have to shoot any of my family”). The variety of notes, with different handwriting styles, stationery, stains, and rips adds to the realism of the story, and gives it a delicious creepiness, even though the reader never sees a photo of an actual zombie or zombie attack.

Note: We talked about Dead Inside on Gweek 054.

Dead Inside: Do Not Enter: Notes from the Zombie Apocalypse.

Trailer for crowd funded zombie web series : The Silent City

Mark Frauenfelder — Wed, 13 Jun 2012 13:30:19 +0000

[Video Link] The looks really cool! The Silent City premieres online on July 1. There will be five episodes.

Rubidium Wu says:

Back in January, you were good enough to publish an article on Boing Boing via the Submitterator about my quest to make a zombie post-apocalypic web series in the real-life abandoned spaces of New York City.

As soon as the story went up, everything changed. Donations came flooding in. The story got picked up by other blogs and famous people retweeted it. We met our goal and then some.

I've spent the last 5 months writing, shooting and editing the series. We're planning on launching the first episode on July 1st.

We have a trailer online that shows what we're up to.

The Silent City

Recreational robot shooting

Mark Frauenfelder — Mon, 11 Jun 2012 22:43:14 +0000

[Video Link] "The Guns & Gardens crew launches a new reality show called Doomsday Design. In this episode we test the remote hunter killer target drone. Can the drone track and shoot an intruder? Will the drone's armor plating stand up the our AR15, SKS, 12 Gauge, .45 and more?"

Zombie Garden Gnome

Rob Beschizza — Mon, 04 Jun 2012 11:41:56 +0000

Despite recent events, the Fairyland CDC "does not know of a virus, condition or curse that would reanimate dead gnomes (or one that would present zombie-like symptoms)."

Gnombie [Amazon]
Zombie Garden Gnome (Cheaper but not as cool) [Amazon]
Official Gnombies homepage [thegnombies.com]
Garden Gnome Zombie T-shirts, etc. [Cafepress]

Alternatively, there is a "Mini Zombie Gnome Hand-Painted Blood Bath Creature" available at Etsy.

Previously: CDC explains how to prepare for a zombie apocalypse, Zombie garden sculpture brings the flesh-slavering undead to your daffodil bed

Florida is center of coming zombie apocalypse

Mark Frauenfelder — Thu, 31 May 2012 16:44:17 +0000

From ihopericksantorum:

5/16: McArthur High School HazMat Situation
Students, Teachers Decontaminated After Breaking Out In Rash
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/05/16/mcarthur-high-school-contamination_n_1521764.html

5/19: No confirmation on chemical at Fort Lauderdale International Airport
http://www.wptv.com/dpp/news/terminal-2-evacuated-at-fort-lauderdale-airport-in-hazmat-scare

5/21: Police: Man bites woman in Westchester http://www.mysuburbanlife.com/westchester/newsnow/x639948018/Police-Man-bites-woman-in-Westchester

5/23: I-285 reopens after hazmat incident
http://www.wesh.com/r/31112110/detail.html

5/23: Man Bites Cousin’s Nose Off
http://www.nbcsandiego.com/news/local/Man-Bites-Cousins-Nose-Off-153100125.html

5/24: Second Broward school reports mystery rash http://www.miamiherald.com/2012/05/24/2815003/second-broward-school-reports.html

5/25: Hazmat Called After Kids Exposed To Pesticide On Bus: Hazmat, EMS Respond To Lake County, FL School
http://www.wesh.com/r/31112110/detail.html

5/25: ‘Disoriented’ passenger subdued on flight in Miami http://www.foxnews.com/us/2012/05/25/passenger-restrained-on-flight-to-miami-arrested/

5/26: Naked Man Allegedly Eating Victim’s Face Shot And Killed By Miami Police
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/05/26/naked-man-eating-victims-face-killed-miami_n_1548359.html

5/26: Florida Doctor Spits Blood at Highway Patrolmen After DUI Arrest http://abcnews.go.com/US/florida-doctor-spits-blood-troopers-face-dui-arrest/story?id=16436402

All in same week and same state…. may God be with you Florida.

Zombies from The Chilling Archives of Horror Comics

Mark Frauenfelder — Wed, 30 May 2012 18:26:40 +0000

[Video Link] My pal Craig Yoe (Listen to my Gweek podcast interview with him) has a new book out: Zombies: The Chilling Archives of Horror Comics Vol. 3

From the banned 1950s horror comics that Dr. Fredric Wertham, the U.S. Senate, and mothers everywhere didn't want their innocent children to devour, comes a terrifying and timely anthology of comics of the undead, "Zombies." These nightmarish stories of the unstoppable living dead will make your spine freeze in terror! You'll thrill to ghoulish artwork by masters like Jack Cole, Bob Powell, Wally Wood, Gene Colan, Lou Cameron, Reed Crandall, Rudy Palais, Frank Frazetta, Basil Worverton, and more!

Co-edited and designed by Eisner winner Craig Yoe with an introduction by the host of the popular "The Horror of It All" blog, Steve "Kaerwell" Banes.

Buy Zombies: The Chilling Archives of Horror Comics Vol. 3 on Amazon